


'til Midnight

by LiraelClayr007



Series: My 2018 - 31 Days of Ficmas! [31]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Dimension-Hopping Rose, F/M, Into the Dalek coda, Meddling TARDIS, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-03-11
Packaged: 2019-10-07 22:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17374040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiraelClayr007/pseuds/LiraelClayr007
Summary: Feeling nostalgic and--though he won’t admit it to himself--a bit melancholy, the Doctor steps to the control panel. He wiggles a few switches, flips a lever, grumbles, “you know what I want,” to his ship, and almost—almost—smiles when she chimes at him in response.They don’t go far. Just a bit sideways, and not at all forward or back in time. He steps out into a familiar courtyard, knowing she won’t be there, knowing she’s a universe away, but flooded with the memory of her just the same. Everything here is drowning in Rose: the stairway, the balcony, the very ground under his feet.**In which the Doctor, just wanting to be reminded of Rose, is very surprised by what--or rather, who--he finds.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 31 Days of Ficmas || day 31 - midnight
> 
> Well, this is it. The (beginning of) the end. This is both my love letter to the Twelfth Doctor and my farewell to him--I started this in August, and it helped me to let go, a little bit. He will always be one of my very favorite Doctors...I think maybe that shows in the way I write him. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this. It's a little sad, as goodbyes often are, but it's full of hope for the future too.

The Doctor watches the TARDIS door close behind Clara. Her words keep bouncing about in his head.

_ You asked me if you’re a good man, and the answer is I don’t know. But I think you try to be, and I think that’s probably the point. _

Is she right? He doesn’t know. He wonders if he’ll ever know.

Feeling nostalgic and--though he won’t admit it to himself--a bit melancholy, he steps to the control panel. He wiggles a few switches, flips a lever, grumbles, “you know what I want,” to his ship, and almost— _ almost _ —smiles when she chimes at him in response.

They don’t go far. Just a bit sideways, and not at all forward or back in time. He steps out into a familiar courtyard, knowing she won’t be there, knowing she’s a universe away, but flooded with the memory of her just the same. Everything here is drowning in Rose: the stairway, the balcony, the very ground under his feet. At least it isn’t snowing. He remembers his “goodbye tour,” just before one of his regenerations, when he saw her here; there were fat snowflakes floating down, settling in her eyelashes, her cheeks as pink as her name…

“Doctor!”

That voice. That voice cuts into his memories like a knife.

She can’t be here. She’s been gone for years. But the footsteps running up behind him are unmistakably Rose.

He can’t bring himself to speak. For a fraction of a moment, even before he turns to look at her, he just breathes her in, his skin sparking to be in her presence again.

“Rose.”

It comes out as an exhalation, a sob, a prayer. Because this can’t be real, and he wants it so badly both hearts feel like they could beat right out of his chest.

But that voice, those steps, even the breath, slightly labored from running.

His Rose is unmistakable.

It’s still only been a second, maybe two. He still can’t see her-- _ he has to turn, to look, but what if she is only in his head?? _ \--but he knows the instant  _ she  _ sees  _ him _ . Her footsteps hesitate, nearly stumble, then she’s running again, right in step.

“Doctor!”

This time he can’t help but turn; her voice is a beacon, a magnet, an irresistible force. And there she is, yellow hair flowing behind her as she runs to him. And understanding washes over him; he sees her blue leather jacket, the dimension cannon strapped to her wrist, and knows this is his Rose, but he cannot keep her. She has promises to keep, and miles to go before she sleeps.

_ Stop thinking about Rose and  _ **_snow_ ** , he chides himself.  _ It may be true, but Robert Frost won’t help anything.This is already going to hurt. Don’t make it worse. _

And just before she throws herself at him another realization hits: she called him Doctor, even  _ after  _ she saw him. Has she met him before, in this body, sometime in his future? Or does Rose simply know him, no matter what shape he’s in? He was standing outside the TARDIS, but so could anyone. Honestly, he can’t discount either possibility. Does it matter? Either way, he doesn’t have long to ponder, because his arms are full of Rose,  _ his _ Rose, and that nonsense he told Clara about not being a hugger has flown out the window. The tears stinging his eyes surprise him; he blinks several times to keep them from spilling, pressing a kiss onto the top of her head.

After a little over a minute Rose pulls away; only a bit, but just like that his arms ache from the lack of her. She looks him up and down, a glint growing in her eyes. Finally she says, “Looks like you grew up some, Doctor.” Her voice is light, teasing, and a tension he hadn’t realized he was holding onto relaxes. Grinning, she says, “I like it. It suits you. And maybe now you look a bit closer to your age.” She chews on her lip. “How old is that, now?”

He hesitates. “A mite older than last time,” he hedges.

Her eyes widen. “And you’re  _ Scottish _ ! That’s new.”

He needs to speak to her, to say something, to say  _ anything _ . But her eyes are so big, shining up at him, and her lips are right there, parted ever so slightly, and it’s been years, so many years, but he still remembers exactly how she tastes. He feels a tightening in his chest, his hearts pound and his body uses up the oxygen it has stored and demands more; when was the last time he took a breath? All he sees is eyes and lips and cheeks and hair and breathing is too much to bother with.

Still, some small part of his brain must be functioning, because somehow he manages to croak out, “Rose, I--”

He is rudely interrupted by rain pouring from the sky.

✰✰✰

“She looks different too,” Rose says, her hands dancing lovingly over the TARDIS console. “Beautiful girl,” she says, her voice soft and low.

They’d found fluffy towels waiting for them just inside the doors, of course, because his ship always takes particularly good care of Rose. Pink, the perfect compliment to Rose’s glowing cheeks. _ I’ll bet I look ridiculous _ , he thinks, scrubbing at his dripping hair. “Couldn’t you have found blue?” he mutters.

“Hmm?” asks Rose absently, fingers still tracing changes here and there.

“Nothing,” the Doctor grumbles.

The TARDIS chimes; short, staccato notes

“Keep your thoughts to yourself,” he snaps back.

“What’s that?”

The Doctor looks at Rose; she looks back, her gaze level. Finally he says, “My ship is calling me names.”

Rose tries to stay serious but fails. Through her giggles she says, “What did she call you?”

With a dignified look the Doctor says, “There isn’t an exact translation, but something rather like, ‘spoiled child.’”

“She’s been with you a very long time, Doctor. She knows you well.”

He rolls his eyes. “Not you too. And stop with the mock seriousness. It isn’t funny.” He points at her all-too-serious face. “It isn’t.”

Rose’s giggle completely negates his stern tone. “Actually, it’s very funny.” He glares, but that only makes her giggle more. “You look all cross, but I know you’re not, I can see it in your eyes.”

He points. “It’s the eyebrows. They have minds of their own.”

She steps closer to examine his face--brand-new to her and fairly new, even to him--and all other thoughts vanish. His hearts speed up again, quickly followed by that squeezing, aching feeling in his chest. He wants to hold her, to hold onto her and take off into the stars, into forever…

...but she does not belong to him.

_ That’s a stupid way to put it _ , he thinks, berating himself--anything to keep his brain away from too-dangerous territory.  _ Rose belongs to herself _ . But now more than ever he cannot have her. She is here, so close he can see an errant drop of water trickle down her face, just in front of her ear, but in a few heartbeats she’ll be gone again. Besides, she’s not looking for him. She’s looking for the other one, with the stripes and the silly shoes. He fixates on the drop of water, watches its slow progress, past her jaw, down her neck, to disappear behind the collar of her shirt. And then, without conscious thought, he takes one more step, invading space that isn’t his to invade. He can feel the heat of her body now, and his hands are tangled in her still dripping hair. Funny, he doesn’t remember moving his hands. And  _ her  _ hands--oh, one is fisted in his shirt and the other is pressed against his cheek, fingertips just barely threaded into his hair. His skin sings at the contact, and although a (small) part of his brain chatters away about how he’s only breaking his own hearts, the rest of his brain bellows “SHUT UP!” at the offensive voice, logical though it may be.

Her lips are only a breath from his when she stops. He thinks his hearts might stop as well. She looks up at him through dark lashes and says, “I love you.”

He frantically searches for the right response. He settles on, “Yes.”

She smiles a shaky smile, eyes twinkling her amusement. “And you love me.” Her voice quavers the tiniest bit, but it is not a question.

He only hesitates a moment, his brain rushing through the scenarios. There’s a fine line, but he thinks he can walk it.

“Yes,” he says, and he could fly through the universe without the TARDIS from the look of joy and love on Rose’s face. “But,” he says quickly, “I can’t say it. I’m sorry, Rose, but it wouldn’t be fair.  _ He  _ should be able to say it first.”

Her face falls, just a little. Then there’s a new smile, a smile that’s sweet and hopeful and heartbreaking all at once.

Her body sags in his arms, suddenly unable to bear the weight of standing. “So I’m really gonna find him again.” Her voice, muffled as it is by her face pressed into his chest, overflows with relief and a hint of unshed tears. Then he feels tension return to her body. “You, I mean. Find  _ you _ again. The  _ other _ you, the  _ earlier _ you.”

The Doctor easily scoops her into his arms. Choosing to brush aside her outburst, he simply says, “Long and stripey?” He chuckles, a rumble deep in his chest. “Let’s just say I’m confident you should continue on your mission.” Kissing the top of her head, he turns to carry her to the jump seat.

“You know about my--”

“Put it  **_back_ ** !” he barks, startling Rose; she starts and he nearly drops her.

“Wha--” she she begins, but is interrupted by a tumbling chime from the TARDIS. “Ah,” she finishes, relaxing again into the Doctor’s hold.

“Now!” he growls. “I’m warning you. I know every inch of your circuitry.”

The ship does not reply.

The moment draws out; the jump seat does not reappear. Finally the Doctor lets out a frustrated breath. With a calmness he doesn’t feel he murmurs to Rose, “Let’s go find some dry clothes, shall we?”

The TARDIS’s answer, a laugh-like trill, is most definitely smug.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The TARDIS continues to meddle. The Doctor continues to struggle with his feelings.
> 
> Rose, of course, continues to charm them both.

A few steps down the corridor Rose says, “I can walk, you know. ’M alright now.”

The Doctor is enjoying the feel of her in his arms but he’s never been able to say no to Rose, so he sets her on her feet without comment. He draws his hand down her arm--shoulder, elbow, wrist, fingertips. His hand may be different, but it still remembers the feel of her palm, the squeeze of her fingers, the softness of her thumb. He wants to hold her hand again but he’s not sure of the rules. Is she thinking of the other one? Just biding time with him until her contraption zaps her away so she can try another place, another time, another Doctor? At that last thought he jerks his hand away and walks briskly down the corridor.

She’s behind him, but he knows the confused and hurt look she’s wearing. To change the subject he asks, “How long have you got?” He looks over his shoulder, glancing meaningfully at her wrist.

“Wha--” she starts to ask, then she stops, horrified. “Oh! I didn’t even think!” She examines the dimension cannon, her movements frantic, then breathes a sigh of relief. “There’s just over twenty minutes left. I have one reset, for up to six hours. “I just have to…” she mumbles.

“Work some jiggery-pokery?” he finishes.

She grins up at him. “I learned from the best.” Pushing another button she says, “There, all set. Six hours.”

“Midnight, local time.” He’s looking somewhere beyond her, into himself. “Seems appropriate.”

His internal clock starts counting down.  _ Five hours, fifty-nine minutes, forty-seven seconds, forty-six seconds, forty-five seconds… _

With great effort, he pushes the numbers to the edge of his thoughts. He cannot get rid of them completely, however.

To change the subject, if just to his own mind, he puts a hand on the small of her back to lead her onward. Without even thinking he walks to her old room.

Which is, as he should have been able to predict by now, locked.

He doesn’t even bother to yell at his TARDIS. “Come on,” he says to Rose, practically stomping down the corridor but allowing only a trickle of irritation to bleed through into his voice. Rose picks up on it at once, though.

“Problem?”

He slows, just a bit. “Not a problem, not exactly. She just obviously wants us to go somewhere specific, and won’t just tell me, and I’m growing weary of her games.”

“You can’t just ask?”

“Of course not!” he huffs. He’s tried nine doors by now. All locked.

“Always doing things the hard way,” she says in a sing-song, under her breath kind of way.

He’s practically growling now, and it doesn’t help when he glances back to see her bite her lower lip to keep from laughing outright. He stops, and has to hold himself back from stomping his foot. He settles for folding his arms across his chest. “Fine. You try to talk some sense into her. Personally I think she’s gone a bit daft in her old age.”

Every light goes out.

Rose laughs, unrestrained, and he swears he can almost see just from the light of her mirth.

Chastised, the Doctor says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

The lights go back up, and Rose quickly schools her face.

“Right,” she says, all business. Then, with a wink at the Doctor she says in a sweet, conspiratorial voice, “Don’t listen to him, he’s just grumpy because he’s all soggy. Won’t you be a lamb and show us the way?” The Doctor rolls his eyes and throws up his hands at her antics; in return she sticks out her tongue and shoots him a cheeky grin.

Just around the corner they hear the creek of an opening door.

“I would have gotten us there,” the Doctor grumbles.

“He means ‘Thank you,’” Rose says, glaring at him.

He rolls his eyes again. “Yes, yes. Thank you ever so much.” He raises his eyebrows at Rose, as if to say,  _ Was that good enough? _ She nods her approval. Then he adds under his breath, “...for all the trouble.”

✰✰✰

The trouble, it turns out, is not over.

“Oh no,” he says as they round the corner. “Oh no, no, no.” He doesn't even realize he’s speaking aloud until Rose giggles. He rounds on her. “And what’s so funny?”

She makes a halfhearted effort to hide her grin behind her hand, fails, then laughs outright. “Your ship seems to be the one in charge today. And every other day, really.”

He tries to glare, but she’s  _ Rose _ , and he’s sure there’s at least a bit of laughter in his eyes when he says simply, “She is that.”

She rests a steading hand on his forearm. “I’ve missed this.”

Again he simply says, “Yes.” He hopes she can hear all the words he does not say.

He wants to turn them around and march the both of them back out into the rain, but there’s nothing doing but to go forward, so he steels himself, takes her hand, and says, “Let’s go then. She wants me to show you.”

✰✰✰

The Doctor walks through the door backwards, the better to see Rose’s face. She blinks in the glare of what looks and feels just like the sun shining in her eyes. When her eyes adjust she looks around, eyes wide, then looks back at him with such wonder and love he fully expects his hearts to burst any moment.

“Have you ever read  _ The Secret Garden _ ?” he asks her, his voice soft.

She just stares for a moment longer, then manages to say, “Um, yeah, I think so. Ages ago.”

“After you were…” He searches for the right word, “...gone, I was a bit out of my head. In the library one day I found a copy. Some days I think the TARDIS left it out for me to find. Or maybe I’m just mad.” Rose snorts, but he lets it pass. “Either way,” he continues pointedly, “I said, ‘I should have a secret garden.’ So she, ah, helped me build one.”

Rose just blinks at him. “You read a book, so you built a rose garden.” Her voice is controlled, even, as if she’s trying to keep from saying more.

“Well. There was a bit more to it than that.” He can feel heat creeping up the back of his neck. He tries to push it back down but fails. He inwardly growls. What good is superior biology if it lets you down when it’s needed most? He doesn’t want to talk about this. Doesn’t want to relive losing her. He just wants to  _ be  _ with her, to look at her, to touch her…

Before he has to lose her all over again.

“Doctor?” She breaks into his thoughts.

He tries to turn away, to gather himself, but she won’t let him. She knows him too well, and he can’t help but go to her. It’s like a moth to a flame, or a bee to a flower.

She grabs his wrist as he turns, and the contact is too much. This place, it’s always been all about Rose, but about  _ mourning  _ Rose, and  _ remembering  _ Rose. Every bit of him is overwhelmed by the sight and smell and touch of her, so the only thing left is to gather her into his arms and taste her perfect lips.

Rose melts into him. She wraps her arms around his neck and returns the kiss with enthusiasm, and once again he is lost to her.

_ A moth to a flame. _

They stand, breathless, three hearts pounding so close it’s impossible to tell one from another.

“I missed you,” the Doctor says, as if that explains everything.

Maybe it does.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This still says three chapters, but the more I write the more I'm realizing it's probably four. Or possibly five....
> 
> I'm writing away! :) Please tell me what you think...


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conversations.

The dry clothes are forgotten. They only have eyes for each other and, occasionally, the flowers. Heartsease and forget-me-nots crowd around rose bushes of every imaginable color, spilling onto the paths and causing them to press close together as they walk.

The Doctor does not mind.

They start out holding hands, Rose leading the way, but end up with her arm around his waist, his hand pressed between her shoulder blades. He can feel her heart beating against his hand, can feel her joy radiating from her. He knows it cannot last, knows she is leaving, knows she will be happy with the other one (because surely she will be, she  _ must _ be), knows it is all for the good…

And still the beat of her heart against his hand, sound of her breath beside him, the perfect humanness of her--all of it makes him want to throw the known future away and steal her for himself, because what good is having a time machine if you can’t use it to be  _ happy _ ?

“I know there’s something you’re not telling me, Doctor,” Rose says suddenly. She stops and looks up at him, and it’s all he can do to not look away from the intensity of her gaze. “I know it’s hurting you. You think you hide everything away so well, but I’ve known you too long. Even with a different face.” She cups his cheek with her hand, ghosting her thumb across his lips. It takes every bit his control, control learned and perfected over centuries, to stand still.

“It’s just…” He searches for the right phrasing--why is it so difficult to find words when Rose is near? And it’s so much worse with her hand against his skin and her eyes searching his soul. “More than anything, my Rose, I want to hold onto you and never let go. I want to keep you here with me, to smash that dimension cannon into smithereens so you can’t possibly go back.”

Her breath catches. “But?”

“ _ But _ ,” he says, trying to keep the despair out of his voice, “your future, my past--they are already written.”

Rose puts her other hand on his other cheek and rises onto her toes to brush her lips against his. Just a moment, just a flutter. There is a familiar ferocity in her eyes when she says, “Don’t I get to choose?”

And he wonders: what  _ would _ she choose? If she knew the future, would she go with the metacrisis to the other universe, or would she stay with this new Doctor? His hearts speed up at the thought. Would she pick  _ him _ ?

“Rose, it’s not that sim--”

“It’s never simple,” she interrupts, and there’s the fierce Rose he knows again. “With us, nothing has  _ ever _ been simple.”

“There are lives at stake.  _ Universes _ at stake. If I selfishly keep you here with me, what about the coming darkness, the one you’re so desperate to warn my previous self about? What happens to Pete’s universe? What happens to this one? There is so much more than just you and me. I cannot shatter space and time because I am in l--” He stops himself just shy of saying the words he promised he would not say.

Her eyes shine with unshed tears. He can see her contemplating all the questions she doesn’t dare ask. When she does ask something, he’s surprised by her words.

“Are you alone?”

“Am I…?” He lets out a breath.

“Are you travelin’ alone?” She reaches a hand to his face, but stops just before touching him. “You shouldn’t, you know. Better with…” Her voice wobbles as she trails off, unable to finish the phrase.

“Better with two,” he says huskily, stepping into her touch.

She closes her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“No, I’m not alone. But Clara, she’s just…I mean, she’s not…” He lets out a nervous laugh. “Something about you, Rose Tyler, makes me tongue-tied.”

Rose laughs too--a choked, half-sob half-laugh--and some of the tension dissipates.

“Clara is a schoolteacher. Sometimes I pick her up, after school, and take her on adventures. But she’s not you. No one could ever, ever be you.”

For frozen moments they stand just so: eyes locked, her hand on his cheek. He wants to hold onto this moment, but deep in his mind the countdown continues.

_ Four hours, thirty-three minutes, twenty-one seconds, twenty seconds, nineteen seconds… _

“Would you like some tea?”

A look of confusion flashes in Rose’s eyes, and suddenly he realizes that it was  _ he _ who spoke. What treacherous part of his brain asked if she wanted tea? He doesn’t want to have tea with her, he wants to--

He shakes his head, trying to re-align his thoughts. “What I mean to say is, it’s been a rather emotional couple of hours. Shall we go to the galley for tea? Or perhaps hot chocolate?”

Inwardly he scolds himself.  _ Running away, are you Doctor? _

She smiles, but he sees a hint of sadness in the smile that wasn’t there before. “Hot chocolate sounds grand. It’s not the same on the other side. Can’t describe it, but it’s...different.” She takes his hand. “Shall we?”

Pushing aside the part of him that wants to run, he says, “Always.”

✰✰✰

The Doctor huffs a sigh, then laughs. He can’t help it anymore. “You win,” he says to his ship. “As usual.”

Gone is the long oak table, bench on one side, sturdy chairs on the other. Instead, tucked into one corner, there’s a booth that looks like it belongs in a 1950’s diner: shiny red tabletop and black leather bench seat. There is, of course, only one bench. “I feel like I need sunglasses or something,” he mutters to himself, “just to fit in with the decor.”

“Have a seat.” He waves toward the booth then busies himself at the stove, heating milk in a pan and pulling cocoa and sugar, vanilla and cinnamon from various cupboards. Just before the milk boils he turns off the heat, stirs in the other ingredients, and pours it into two waiting mugs. Hooking his fingers through the handles, he picks them up, carries them to the booth, and scoots in next to Rose.

“My mug,” she says, wonder in her voice. “I can’t believe you still have this.” She runs her fingers over the red and orange maple leaves painted on the mug, as if testing reality. “We got this in…”

“Vermont,” the Doctor finishes. He’s not looking at the mug. He can’t keep his eyes off her face.

“You held onto this all these years.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long moment. “I have everything of yours. Everything you left behind.”

It’s happened between them before so often, these moments when time stretches and stretches until it pops, a bubble bursting to send them skittering. It’s been a long, long time, but the feeling is painfully familiar. It’s the Doctor who pops the bubble this time. “Oh, I forgot the marshmallows, do you want marshmallows?”

“Doctor!” It comes out as a frustrated yelp. “Stop changing the subject!”

He jumps sideways, giving her an innocent look. “I thought hot cocoa  _ was _ the subject.”

Rose bangs her fist on the table, jarring the mugs and splashing the red formica with cocoa. “No it bloody well isn’t, and you know it. The subject is you and me and the past and the future. More important, the subject is the present--this very moment. The subject is time.  _ Our _ time. Please don’t look at me all innocent, like you’re not counting down in that Time Lord brain of yours. I’ve got your number, Doctor. I can practically see time ticking away when I look into your eyes.”

She breathes deep, steadying herself. “I’m not asking you to tell me everything. I’m not even asking you to tell me anything at all. I’m just asking you to be with me here, right now, while we can. I have to leave in--”

“Four hours twelve minutes,” he supplies, before she can even look at her wrist.

“Right. I have to leave in just over four hours. I don’t want to spend all that time dancing around the fact that we have to say goodbye. I want to spend it together, yeah?”

He wants to argue. He wants to protect his hearts, and hers. But she runs her fingers through his hair, and he is lost.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help the sunglasses line. I liked the sonic shades. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

“Come on,” says the Doctor, breaking their silence. It’s a comfortable one this time. “Drink up. I make good hot cocoa, you know. Only the best ingredients.” As he talks he mops up the mess; in keeping with the diner theme there’s a silver dispenser of napkins on one edge of the table, flanked by salt and pepper shakers. It’s a ridiculous setup, but he’s thankful for the heat of Rose pressed up against his side, her hand resting lightly on his thigh. Yes, he’ll thank his TARDIS later. She’s a good ship. Pushy, but good. “You know, vanilla from the Chantor highlands on Rina’s third moon, sugar from Turees 9, cinnamon from Odom Goe.” 

Rose looks at him quizzically. “What about the cocoa?”

He gives her an ‘are you kidding me’ look as he stretches his arm across the back of the booth. “Earth, of course. Do you honestly think there’s better chocolate anywhere in the universe?”

She laughs, and he buzzes with the the feel of her body against his side.

“Right.” She leans her head on his shoulder and takes a sip of her cocoa. “Mmm, that  _ is _ good. Not quite what mum used to make, but you remembered the cinnamon.”

He doesn’t tell her he stopped putting cinnamon in cocoa after she left, that just the smell of cinnamon was too painful a memory. And after today...well, we’re in the present now, aren’t we? Let’s not think about tomorrow.

_ Four hours, seven minutes, forty three seconds, forty two seconds, forty one seconds… _

He sips his cocoa.

Kissing the crown of her head, he murmurs into her hair, “I did mean to get marshmallows, you know. Shall I?”

“Don’t you  _ dare _ move.”

He chuckles. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Warm and content, Rose sighs and snuggles closer. After a few minutes her breathing evens, her heart rate begins to slow, her muscles begin to relax, one by one. He thinks back to the time of day and her job at Torchwood on the parallel earth, and then takes a measure of the exhaustion he’s noticed in her thus far. Softly the Doctor says, “Rose, how long have you been awake?”

She blinks up at him, and he can see the fogginess in her thoughts. “Um. Twenty… uh, twenty-two hours? Twenty-three? Give or take.” Her smile is sweet, more than half asleep already.

He stands and scoops her into his arms all in one motion; quite a feat, considering the ridiculous booth. She gives a little shriek of a laugh.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

“Why, Doctor,” she says coyly, wrapping her arms around his neck and batting her eyes at him.

He freezes mid-step, nearly dropping her. “Rose,” he says, attempting to keep his voice as even, as gentle, as possible. “My Rose. You need to  _ sleep _ .”

She struggles in his arms, panicking. “I don’t want to  _ sleep _ , Doctor! I don’t have much time left! There’s not enough time!” She’s crying again, clutching at his shirt and pounding a fist on his chest. His hearts constrict. She sobs softly into his neck, tears soaking his collar, repeating over and over, “Not enough time… Not enough time…”

He sits her on the tabletop and takes her face in his hands. “There is time enough for us, Rose. There is.”

There isn’t. Not for him anyway. No matter when he says goodbye to her it’s going to break his hearts, but he has to make her believe what he’s saying. There is time enough for Rose and the Doctor, just not this Doctor, just not in this now… Every word he speaks feels like self-betrayal, but it’s all for her. She is all that matters.

“I need you to trust me. I promise I won’t let you sleep too long, but you’re done in. You need at least an hour. Can you trust me to wake you up?” He looks into her teary eyes, draws her close; he does not break eye contact as he gently kisses her lips. “I will not let you disappear while you are asleep. I will not.”

She relaxes, just a bit. “Alright. Take me to bed, Doctor.” She re-buries her face in his neck.

He groans inwardly. He’s almost certain it’s a sleepy, innocent remark, but his body can’t help but react. Is she trying to destroy him? She’s certainly trying to destroy his resolve.

Again he cradles her in his arms. She keeps her arms around his neck, one hand absently running through the hair at the nape of his neck. He can feel her breath against the skin of his throat. Once again a small part of his brain says “think of something else, think of frog slime in June, think of that time you climbed the same mountainside for thirty hours before you realized you were being misdirected,” but the louder part shrieks, “shut up shut up, treasure every moment of this; breathe her scent while you can, memorize the weight of her in your arms, because soon she will disappear and you will never see her again you  _ idiot _ .”

In the end it’s no contest. Rose is here, and soon she will be gone, and every moment matters. Even the ones that bring exquisite pain.

Rose must be more awake than she seems, because he hears a muffled, “Doctor, you passed my room.”

“Yes.”

Soon she’s going to think that’s the only word he knows. Either that or she’s going to figure out that he’s avoiding certain subjects. This time he doesn’t want to explain that he’s taking her to his room. Or, actually, he doesn’t want to explain  _ why _ he’s taking her to his room. They’d fallen asleep together in her bed before, many times. After a taxing adventure, after a long evening watching movies in the TARDIS, sometimes just because. He’d walk her back to her room, tuck her into her bed, and just...stay. But she’d never even seen his room. So he’s taking her there now, and tucking her into his bed. Partly so she can have the memory, but mostly so  _ he _ can. So when she’s gone he can bury his face in a pillow that once cradled Rose’s head, so he can feel the ghost of her beside him, so he can imagine the sound of her breath and heartbeat echoing in his space.

Her scent won’t linger long, but he has a good memory.

Rose’s breath catches when she realizes where they are. Eyes wide, she says “You know, all that time we traveled together, I sometimes wondered if you actually had a bed of your own. You slept in my bed. You fell asleep in the library when you were really tired. That one time you fell asleep on a table on that human colony...Elizabeth, was it? But that was because there was ginger in the pie and you didn’t realize and you had all that wine and…” She can’t finish the story, she’s too overcome by giggles. It doesn’t matter, he remembers. And of course she’d fixate on that time he was drunk. He huffs. She giggles again, then continues. “But in all our time together you never said, ‘I’m off to bed’ or anything like that.”

Standing her on her feet, the Doctor rests a palm on Rose’s cheek. “It’s not a place I often bring people. Not ever, really. I come here to sleep, which is rare, or to think. It reminds me of home, and that’s not always a good thing. Not since the Time War, anyway. If I hadn’t lost y--” Pain flashes across his face, and her giggles disappear in an instant, replaced by heartache that mirrors his own. “But I did, so you never got to see this room. But now you’re here. With me.” He nods toward a doorway off to the side. “Washroom’s in there. I’ll bet the TARDIS put some pajamas in there for you.”

She blinks at him a few times, eyes wet with unshed tears, then rises on her tiptoes to brush the ghost of a kiss on his lips. Then she’s gone, disappearing through the doorway to change.

He lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

When she slips out again a few minutes later she’s wearing soft blue pajamas, a set she’d worn when she traveled with him before. She’s fingering the edge of the tank top, and he can almost see the memories passing through her mind.

Resurfacing from her memories, she looks up to see the Doctor leaning against his bed. Apparently she hadn’t properly noticed it before. Her eyes nearly pop out of her head. “Doctor! That bed! It’s...it’s gigantic! It’s bigger than the entire  _ room _ I had growing up. And are those actually  _ stairs _ leading up to it?!”

“Well it’s not an entire staircase, just three steps,” he scoffs. “And while I’ll admit it’s large, I think you’re exaggerating a bit about the size. It is nice for stretching out in, though. I am sometimes rather tall.” He shrugs.

Rose crosses the space between them and wraps her arms around his waist, folding herself into his embrace. “Never stop surprising me, Doctor,” she whispers.

_ Oh, the metacrisis will be a surprise _ , he thinks, but quickly pushes that out of his mind. Here. Now. That’s what Rose wants.

“Into bed,” he says, and swings her up onto the soft mattress.

She squeaks in surprise.

“An hour, then?” he asks, automatically returning her smile.

“You’re stayin’, aren’t you?” She looks almost hurt.

“Of course. I won’t leave you.”

She looks at him like he’s daft. “I meant up here, Doctor. Stayin’ up here, in this bed, with me. I won’t go to sleep unless you’re holdin’ me.”

Just look at that stubborn face, those exhausted, shining eyes. How can he say no?

The tension in his shoulders eases the tiniest bit. “Then hold you I shall, my Rose.” He drapes his coat across the back of a nearby chair, toes off his shoes, and climbs the steps up to his bed. He’s not at all surprised to see she’s settled into the pillow he always sleeps on. She always seems to know these things. His hearts speed up just thinking that even for a short time his pillow will smell like Rose. Sliding across the bed and under the heavy quilt he pulls her body against his, her back pressing against his chest, his face buried in her hair. For a long moment they stay like this, just memorizing each other.

Rose breaks the silence. “Doctor, if I had a bed this comfortable I’d never leave it.”

“Superior--”

“Biology, yeah, I know,” she interrupts with a sleepy giggle. “But still…”

It’s his turn to interrupt her. “Sleep. The longer you stay awake the more anxious I get. Your fragile human body…” He runs fingertip along her bare arm and she shivers. He clears his throat. “Sorry. I forget myself.” He tries to put a bit of space between them but she pushes against him, and no words are needed.

He sighs, and he isn’t sure if it’s frustration or joy. Maybe it’s both.

“Alright.” His voice is low, soothing. He can tell from her breathing that she is nearly asleep. “I’ll wake you in an hour. I promise.”

_ Three hours, forty-four minutes, fifty-seven seconds, fifty-six seconds, fifty-five seconds… _

“Just don’t leave me,” she mumbles.

“Never again,” he lies.

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose discovers something new about her Doctor.

He isn’t going to sleep.

He’s going to spend this hour memorizing the feel of Rose in his arms, breathing her in, delighting in stolen moments he thought he’d never have again.

The last few hours replay in his mind like a film, from when he first stepped out of the TARDIS and heard Rose’s voice right through a few minutes ago, when he he lied...telling her he’ll never leave her again.

When she finds him again, the _other_ Doctor, he’s going to leave her behind on that beach.

He doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t deserve these moments of joy. He’s protecting her heart by lying to her, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’s lying.

_You asked me if you’re a good man, and the answer is I don’t know. But I think you try to be, and I think that’s probably the point._

Is he a good man? Where is the line?

Suddenly everything overwhelms him; his limbs feel heavy and his eyes won’t stay open. _No! Not now_ , he pleads with his body, but it’s no use. He checks and double-checks the alarm clock in his head.

He cannot let her disappear like this.

Just before he succumbs to sleep a series of thoughts drop into his mind like stones into a pond. He’d said goodbye to her once, and it had nearly broken him. He’d said goodbye to her again, given her to himself, as it were, and it had been the hardest thing he’d ever done.

He doesn’t know how he can possibly do it again.

✰✰✰

“Rose.”

His voice is barely more than a whisper but she snaps awake, her eyes full of panic. “Is--am I late? Is it… are we okay?”

Pulling her close--closer, actually--he peppers her face with soft kisses. That treacherous bit of his mind says, “What is this you’ve become, Doctor?” but he quickly shuts it down.

“Everything is fine, my Rose. Everything is fine. It’s just time to wake up is all.”

She relaxes, melting into him. “You stayed.” He hears the smile in her voice.

“I said I would. I even slept, actually.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s been a very long time since I’ve been so comfortable.” She snuggles even closer, and he gives a little hum of contentment.

“Did you dream?”

The ghost of a smile flits across his face. He doesn’t often talk about his dreams, but this one he’s happy to tell. “I did. I dreamed of the first time you saw me. I picture you that way all the time; that brilliant smile, and all the falling snow.”

She sits up and turns to face him, utterly bewildered. “Doctor, the first time I saw you was in the basement of Henrik’s. Remember? Moving dummies, explosions, ‘run for your life.’ Ringin’ any bells?”

“That was the first time _I_ met _you_.”

He lets the silence linger; they just look at each other, and he sees the exact moment she realizes what he’s saying.

“Doctor!” Her eyes are wide, unbelieving. “You went back into my past? Which one of you? Was it a face I knew? How come I don’t remember?”

At first he hedges. “It...it wasn’t a very memorable moment. Not for you, anyway.” She gives him that look of hers, and he gives in. He’d known he would from the start. “I was feeling sad, alright? It was the end of a hard day and I wanted to see you. I didn’t mean to actually be noticed, but I’m glad of it. I got to see your beautiful smile, hear your laugh. You thought I’d had too much to drink because I didn’t know what year it was. Bit of a common problem for me, actually.”

Realization washes over her. “I remember! When I told you, you laughed and said--”

“I bet you’re gonna have a great year.”

“And that was the year I met you. Properly met you, I mean. The year my life changed forever.” Her eyes begin to glisten again.

“I almost messed everything up that night, you know,” the Doctor says conversationally. “I nearly added ‘Rose Tyler.’”

A laugh bubbles out of her. “You never.”

“I did. I had to bite it back. You know how I was in that body. I had to say your name every chance I got. I rather liked the taste of it in my mouth, I think.”

She leans forward until she’s just a breath away, looking right into his eyes. “Didn’t you ever wonder if the taste of _me_ might be better?”

He swallows. “Every single minute, my Rose.” Clearing his throat, he amends, “Well, nearly. The minutes we were in peril I was thinking about how best to save your life, and then how maybe I could swing you up in a celebratory hug and maybe kiss you afterwards. You know, all caught up in the spirit of celebration. The few times I did get to kiss you, you were the Wolf, or you were Cassandra, or...it was all very confusing. I just wanted _you_ , and to know you wanted--”

His words are cut off by Rose’s lips pressed against his. When she stops for a breath, she whispers, “I’m here now, Doctor. And let me tell you, you’re all I want. You are my past, present, and future.”

 _You are my present_. It’s the only thing he’ll let himself think. Because her future is the other Doctor.

She grins. “Did you really think about snogging me that much?”

He looks away, eyes seeking anything in the room that isn’t her. “I might have exaggerated. Just a bit.”

Her laugh actually sparkles. Another piece of him breaks.

_Two hours, thirty-two minutes, fourteen seconds, thirteen seconds, twelve seconds…_

✰✰✰

“Well. This is new.”

His ship, yet again. They’d been wandering about, and he’d let Rose lead. Or so he’d thought. But when she’d stumbled upon this particular room…

“New body, new hobbies, you know the drill. It’s just something I decided to pick up again. It’s been awhile, but it’s like flying a TARDIS. You never forget.”

She runs a finger along a coiled metal string, which releases a soft squeak. Looking up at him through her lashes, she says, “Play for me?”

As if he could refuse.

He sits on a low stool and settles the guitar on his thigh, the lacquered wood and metal strings somehow familiar against the relative newness of his left hand. Rose looks at him, expectant, and in that breath he begins to play.

He has no particular tune in mind, only Rose; he thinks of her and improvises. The tune begins playfully, skipping from high notes to low and back again the way they skipped across the universe. He plays the Wolf, dramatic and sweeping, then the mingled pain and joy of regeneration. Sometimes there is fear of losing her, sometimes there is laughter, sometimes it is just the perfection of being with the one who fits so rightly at your side.

He doesn’t want to, but it is part of their story, so he plays Canary Wharf. The utter despair echoes about them, the feeling of losing one of his hearts when she disappeared into the other universe. He plays the beach, the words both said and unsaid. He doesn’t risk a look at her face, but he can feel the tears in her eyes.

He plays her absence, his loneliness, her determination to find him again. He plays their reunion, a ridiculous movie crescendo that ends with a whimper; he recalls lying on the street in her arms and can barely go on.

But he started down this musical memory lane and he can’t stop now. He plays the cacophony of the Crucible, the confusion of the metacrisis...and then the worst goodbye he’s ever said.

It is slow and bittersweet; he plays her happiness and confliction at once, dipping occasionally into a minor key. He plays his heartbreak, the emptiness inside him that could never quite be filled. He lets the song go so quiet it sounds like it may even just ease off into nothing. Rose’s breaths slow with the music.

And then he plays today.

He plays his melancholy, his longing, his attempted self-comfort. There is a drawn out wail when he remembers hearing her voice calling out to him, that moment etched in his mind for all of eternity. His fingers jump along the strings, mimicking Rose’s footsteps in the courtyard. He plays his frustrations with the TARDIS and Rose’s trilling, teasing laughs, the joy in the garden, the bliss of kissing her, of holding her, of being near her. He plays her fierceness, her refusal to let time--past, present, or future--get in their way. He plays hints of the agony he knows is coming, but refuses to dwell on it, not wanting to hurt his Rose. He plays the sweetness of falling asleep with her in his arms.

And winding through it all, a theme that repeats over and over, is love.

His unending, unconditional, heartbreaking love. He can’t say the words to her, but he can play the notes. He hopes that someday she will understand.

At the very end, almost an afterthought, he plays the first eight notes of “Auld Lang Syne,” sweet and pure, no reverb or distortion.

And then there is silence.

For a moment--or actually, 97.32 seconds--he is lost inside himself, lost in a flood of memories. Music may be good for the soul but it can also cause heartache. He’s brought back to the present by a face searching his, a hand on his cheek.

“Doctor, that was…” Rose looks into his eyes as if the answers lie buried somewhere inside him. “That was _me_. It was you and me and the whole universe and how did you do that with just a guitar?” She doesn’t give him a chance to respond, instead she presses her lips to his, taking his breath away. He returns her kiss with enthusiasm, nearly dropping the guitar in his attempt to pull her onto his lap.

“Hold on, I’ve got to put this up, it was a gift from…” He sees her face: eyes bright, cheeks flushed, lips swollen from kissing him, and he amends his train of thought. “You know what, that’s not important.” He manages to get the guitar onto the stand with one hand and pull her onto his lap with the other. Her fingers thread through his hair as her lips crush against his again.

  
**_This_ ** , he thinks. _This right here is what the present is for._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really, _really_ thought this was going to be five chapters long. But as the fifth chapter grew longer and longer I realized it was actually two. Oops! Sometimes even when I outline my estimates aren't quite right. But the end is truly in sight!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor gives Rose a present, and Rose gives the Doctor some unexpected information.

“Only half an hour? How can there only be half an hour left?”

_Thirty-four minutes, thirty-three seconds, thirty two, thirty one..._

The Doctor looks pointedly at Rose, his eyes flicking to her well-kissed lips and unkempt hair. “We did spend rather a lot of time in the music room.”

Her cheeks flush; he can nearly see the memories play across her face. She touches her hair and makes a face. “I don’t suppose you’ve got anything handy to fix my hair.” She glances around the console room and shakes her head, absentmindedly using her fingers to attempt to tame the worst of the flyaway bits. “Just what I need, to jump back to Torchwood looking like I’ve been thoroughly snogged.”

“You have been thoroughly snogged,” says the Doctor, bounding up the steps to look at the books on one of his many bookshelves. “And you weren’t complaining before.”

“Of course I wasn’t! But no one _else_ needs to know that!” Rose crosses her arms and shoots an exasperated look at the Doctor.

“Ah, here it is,” he says, grabbing a book and taking the steps two at a time to stand in front of her again. “This’ll help,” he says, thrusting the book into her hands.

“ _The Hobbit_?” She looks at the book, then at him, then at the book again.

“Just open it,” he says, the corners of his mouth quirking up in an almost smile.

Rose opens the book, looks inside, and laughs. “I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is...it’s exactly like you.”

The book isn’t a real book, or if it once was it isn’t anymore; it’s hollow, and inside Rose finds a hairbrush, a few hair ties, a headband, a dozen or so bobby pins, and a barrette in the shape of a butterfly. They shouldn’t fit inside the book, of course, but like everything else the Doctor makes it’s bigger on the inside. Pulling out the brush to tidy up her hair she gasps.

“But this is--”

“Yours. Yes.” The Doctor’s voice is soft. “It’s all yours. I…” His eyes dart about, searching for words, or answers, or possibly a place to hide. “I kept everything of yours, Rose. It’s all here.” A smile flits across his face.

There are things he can’t explain, like how there are times he hurts so much he takes everything of hers and asks the TARDIS to hide it away, and it stays hidden for years. Or how he took a silk scarf she wore once when they were traveling and had it made into a bowtie. How all her books are on his shelves, but he rarely reads them because he’s too afraid to damage them; instead he found duplicate copies of each and reads those over and over, reveling in the notion that she once read those words too.

He can’t quite place the look she’s giving him--awe? love? exasperation?--but there are too many questions behind her eyes. To change the subject, or possibly as an excuse to touch her again, he takes the brush from her hand. She barely notices. “May I?” he asks, eyes flicking toward her hair. She only stares.

“I’m just going to brush your hair then.” And he does, all gentle, like he’s trying to keep a frightened bird from stumbling out of its nest. When all the tangles are gone and her hair is smooth again he stands in front of her, takes the trick book from her grip. Holding her hands in his and catching her eyes the same way he says, “Please don’t ask me, Rose. I’m not going to tell you about your future.” He almost slips, almost says _our_.

Another bit of him breaks.

For a moment she looks like she’s going to argue, but she surprises him yet again. She presses a soft kiss to his lips then says, “I know. An’...an’ I really don’t want to know. I think.” She laughs, a short, bright little laugh. “I don’t want to mess anything up. If I change anything, maybe you wouldn’t be here today...right?”

He hopes his voice is reassuring when he says, “Just live, Rose. It will all work out.” _For you_ , he adds in his head.

_Stop it. This is not helping. You have to say goodbye in twenty-seven minutes. Stop being morose._

“I have something for you.” Changing the subject has become his go-to today. He pushes a series of buttons on the console, flips a switch, and a cd, already in a case, pops out of a slot just in front of Rose. “Take it,” he says. “I had the TARDIS make it for you.”

She holds it in her hands, a smile crossing her face. When she doesn’t say anything, the Doctor says awkwardly, “I just thought...well, you seemed to like it, so I thought you might like to listen to it again…”

There are tears in her eyes when she looks up at him. “It’s perfect. _Rose and The Doctor, There and Back Again._ That’s so...that’s just _us_. I can’t believe I’ll be able to listen to it again. You were recording the whole time? Doctor, I don’t even know how to thank you for--”

“You’ve got cd players over in that universe, don’t you?” he interrupts, brushing aside her thanks. They both know he’d do anything for her. _I’m burning up a sun just to say goodbye._ “I could put it on your phone, or...” He shrugs.

“We’ve got cd players, Doctor. Although vinyl is making a comeback, whoever would have expected that? Speaking of my phone, though…” She digs through the inner pocket of her blue leather jacket and pulls out something that looks almost, but not quite, like an iphone. Where the apple would normally be there’s a silhouette of a leaf. In response to his quizzical look she says, “Yeah, no Apple in the other universe. We have Maple instead. Weird, isn’t it.”

“A bit.”

She grins. “It’s a pretty good phone, though. Takes great pictures. Which is exactly what I want right now.” She tucks herself under his arm and gazes up at him, holding the phone at arm’s length to take a selfie. “Don’t look at the phone, look at me. I love the way you look at me.”

He has no problem with that. He doesn’t want to stop looking at her.

Ever.

She snaps a few pictures, then flips through them to see how they look. “Oh, _this_ is the one.” Leaning up against him, her back to his chest, she shows him the picture. They’re looking at each other like nothing else exists.

“Yes,” he says. His voice is hoarse, almost cracking. Before handing the phone back he makes a few swipes on the screen. When his own phone chirps from his pocket he winks.

“How did you do that?” Rose asks, genuinely surprised. “Our phones are from separate realities. They shouldn’t even connect!”

“Time Lord. Big brain. Very clever.”

She rolls her eyes. “Right. May I have my phone back please, Doctor Clever? I want to save that photo in my ‘special people’ folder. There’s an auto-backup to my computer. As soon as I get back to the other universe, anyway.”

A look of pain passes over her face, but she pulls it in so quickly he doesn’t mention it. Instead he hands her phone back and says, “May I see your pictures, then? Any others of me?”

She turns her face up to him and kisses him on the tip of his nose. “You think pretty highly of yourself.”

“Quite right, too.”

“Doctor!” She tries to glare, but she’s overcome by giggles. “New body, new voice, new accent. Very much the same Doctor.”

“That’s the way it works,” he says. She’s looking at her phone and doesn’t notice his sad smile.

“Alright,” she says, handing the phone back. “Go ahead. You may recognize a few faces.”

It starts with a family picture: Jackie, Pete, Rose, and a tiny baby with a head of spiky blond hair. “Oh, look at Tony!” he says. Rose gives him an odd look. _Oh. Right._ “I mean, Oh look, Jackie had her baby,” he deadpans. She rolls her eyes.

There are familiar faces: Mickey, Jack, Sarah Jane. That surprises him a bit--not that Rose counts her as a friend, but that she actually has a picture--until he notices the background and the angle. “I never knew you got the TARDIS to take pictures for you.” Rose shrugs. “She usually tells me she’s not a photographer, and makes me argue for awhile. She always did like you best.” She ducks her head and turns away but not before he sees her smile, obviously pleased with the compliment.

He sees some people he doesn’t know, but recognizes in context: they are clearly from Torchwood in the other universe. He sees other faces from this universe, some of Rose’s childhood friends, maybe an aunt. And then…

The Doctor and Rose Tyler. As it should be.

The memories replay in his mind all the time, and he has many of these pictures in his own collection. But knowing she has them too, that they gaze upon the same…

_Keep it together, Doctor._

_Nineteen minutes, fifty-eight seconds, fifty-seven seconds, fifty-six seconds…_

The two of them in the TARDIS, just after they’d left Cardiff and Charles Dickens behind. He’d made some excuse about needing to document the first time she’d dipped into the TARDIS’s wardrobe...but really he’d just wanted a picture of her in that dress.

The two of them dancing after they saved all the children--and everyone else--in 1940s London. Jack took that one. Even way back then they’d smiled at each other like no one else existed.

Him with a new suit--and a new face--in Jackie’s flat on Christmas.

The two of them arm in arm after the queen’s coronation, Rose all dressed in pink.

There are a whole series of snaps he doesn’t even remember her taking, all of him. Mostly of him grinning madly. Or making ridiculous faces. Or wearing those ridiculously unnecessary glasses.

She sidles up to him. “Ah,” she says. “I guess you can see how much I like the sexy specs.”

He makes a derisive noise. “You mean the ‘I am pretentious and will wear these glasses even though I don’t need them so I look even more so’ specs?”

“Very, very sexy,” she says, eyes fixed on the picture.

“I think they might be around here somewhere,” he says, taking a step toward the nearest corridor. The one step is all he’s allowed to take. Rose pulls him back and throws her arms around his neck, and in a breath both of them are lost in a long, drawn out kiss.

She looks up at him through her eyelashes. “You don’t need glasses to be sexy, Doctor,” she says, a bit breathless.

“Rose.”

It is an exhalation, a sob, a prayer. She is here, but he still wants what he cannot have.

A tear trickles down her cheek.

He pulls her close again, kissing the crown of her head. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you cry.”

She allows herself a minute to sob into his chest. Just a minute, no more, then she wipes away her tears and pulls herself together. “Sorry,” she says, her voice quavering just the slightest bit. “I was just thinkin’ about--”

“I know,” he says, the words catching in his throat. “Me too.”

They look at each other, unblinking, unable to look at anything else. Finally the Doctor says, “Can I look at the rest of the pictures, then?”

There are a few more of him, mostly the long and stripey him, and then one that stops him short.

Rose and a blond woman.

Rose and a woman with chin-length blond hair facing each other, hands clasped between them, completely in their own little world.

“Oh. Um, that’s just,” Rose says, trying to get the phone back from him, sounding very nervous. “That’s just, uh--”

“That’s me,” says the Doctor, with complete confidence. “Or, it will be. Someday.”

Rose gapes at him. “How could you possibly know that?” she says, disbelief thick in her voice.

“See the way she’s looking at you? That’s how _I_ look at you. It’s in every single one of these pictures. And look how _you’re_ looking at _her_ . If that’s not me, I’m very, _very_ jealous right now. But I’m not, because I know I’m right.”

Rose smiles at him, but it’s the saddest smile he’s ever seen on her face. “And now you know, Doctor.”

His eyebrows draw down. “Know what?”

“In a few minutes we have to say goodbye, but you know now you’ll get to see me again someday. One more time.”

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long! I've struggled with it, and I'm still not sure it's exactly right--some unexpected bits sort of wrote themselves in, so I had to go in new and interesting directions!--but I'm ultimately mostly happy with it.
> 
> Final chapter coming very soon!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The agony of goodbye.

“Where? When?” The words pop out of his mouth before he can stop them.

He knows her answer even before the pained look forms on her face.

“Doctor, you know I can’t tell you your future any more than you can tell me mine. Besides, you told me not to tell, uh, you. About any of it. Although you must have known you’d figure some of it out, because it had already--” She stops, screwing her eyes shut. After a few deep breaths she says, “It’s very confusing, living life out of order.”

He chuckles. “Yes, it is that.” Gently brushing her cheek with the backs of his fingers he says, “I shouldn’t have asked. Lost control for a moment. Even Time Lords do that on occasion.”

She winks at him. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

He feels the heat rise in his neck and up his ears. Superior biology failing him again.

“Rose,” he says, half warning, half longing.

She folds herself into his arms, and he can’t help but reciprocate. “I know, Doctor,” she says, a hint of tears in her voice. “I know.”

From the corner of his eye he sees a flicker, and there’s a corresponding hum from his TARDIS. “Come on,” he says, brushing a kiss along Rose’s temple. “Not much time left now, let’s go outside.”

“The rain…” There’s a hint of a question in her voice, but her eyes are full of the same trust she’s gifted him since the beginning.

“Come on,” he repeats, taking her hand and pulling her toward the door.

✰✰✰

“The stars.” Rose’s words are soft, but somehow full of memories.

The rain has stopped, leaving a clear, moonless night and a sky full of stars, or as full of stars as a London sky ever gets. Rose gazes upward, but the Doctor can’t pull his eyes away from her: the way her eyes catch the starlight, the curve of her smile, the few errant wisps of her hair caught in the faint breeze. “I couldn’t take you on a proper adventure this time, but I can at least show you the stars from here.”

She looks earthward at that, away from the stars and into his eyes. “I wouldn’t trade this night for anything, Doctor. I don’t need far off planets or explosions or imminent peril. All I need is you.”

His hearts threaten to stop again, his chest constricting in an exquisitely painful way that he knows he’ll remember throughout every one of his many lives.

“I’ve never deserved you,” he says, the words thick in his throat.  _ Am I a good man? I just don’t know. _

Rose takes his hands in hers and presses a soft kiss to his lips. “We deserve each other, Doctor. Can’t you see? That’s the way it’s always been. We make each other...not  _ whole _ , that’s not exactly it. But we make each other  _ better _ . Your heart is so big, and you’re so clever and good, but toge--”

“What did you say?”

Rose jumps, not just at the Doctor’s interruption but at his wide, frantic eyes.

Unsure, voice a bit squeaky, Rose says, “I, uh, I was just saying we make each other better. Better with two and all that, remember?”

“But did you say I’m good?” He looks at her so intently he can feel her anxiety rolling off her.

“Yeah?”

He grins, pulling her into a tight hug and swinging her around. “Thank you, Rose. Thank you.” He puts her back on her feet but doesn’t let go of her, instead pressing his lips to hers. She relaxes into him, returning the kiss.

He doesn’t want to stop kissing her, not ever, but he knows he has to. When he pulls away enough to speak he says, “No time to explain, only four minutes left. Just know I’ve been struggling with something and you’ve just given me a bit of reassurance I needed.”

“Alright,” she says, still a bit hazy, drunk from the surprise fervor of his kiss. Then, “Wait, four minutes?” Her face crumples. “Doctor, I--”

He puts a finger to her lips. “It’s alright, my Rose. Everything is going to be alright.”

Their eyes, tear-filled as they are, speak every word they cannot say.

Finally, into the silence of the night, the Doctor says, “We will always find each other. Always. Even when apart, we hold each other…” He finds he cannot get the rest of the words out. 

Rose finishes for him. “We hold each other in our hearts.” She presses the palm of her hand against the center of his chest, and the memory of the metacrisis tries to stab at him again. But he pushes it aside. There is no time.  _ Thirty-seven seconds, thirty-six, thirty-five… _

He takes a step back. “Only moments now. I can’t… I wish… But this is the way of things.”

She nods, biting her lip to keep the sobs from escaping. She can’t keep the tears from tracing down her cheeks, though. She darts forward for one more quick kiss, then she too steps back to keep the space between them.

“I love you,” she says.

“My Rose,” he says.

He reaches out a hand, as if to touch her cheek one more time, and she disappears.

Even though she cannot hear, he finally says, “I love you, too.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly thought this was the last chapter! And actually it is...I'd originally thought to put the epilogue  
> on the end here, but then I realized it should be on its own. So...one more chapter. Kind of. But I'm posting it right now, so no waiting! :)


	8. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Many years later...

The Doctor looks out across the Thames, bouncing on her toes. Yaz, Graham, and Ryan had asked for a low-key holiday in London, and she’d been happy to comply. As soon as they’d landed everyone had gone off in separate directions, after setting a meetup time and place for dinner. She grins. Graham will probably eat three times before then, or carry emergency stores in his pockets.

Not that she’s expecting an emergency today. The TARDIS didn’t pick up any aliens about; none besides her anyway. It’s a bright, summery day, positively brilliant for London. It’s an unremarkable Tuesday in July, late morning, not at all threatening. She’d been careful in her choice.

She hasn’t given much thought yet to what she wants to do with her day. A museum? A walk along the river? Something sweet to eat? She grins again. She’s thinking like Graham.

Walking aimlessly, she smells something on the summer breeze. “Chips!” She claps her hands and adds a skip to her step. A few people walking nearby turn to glance at her, but she pays them no notice. It’s been ages since she last had chips. It’s worth a few stares.

She buys her chips and walks, opting to sit and eat on the edge of a fountain rather than at a table. She closes her eyes and takes her first bite, savoring the warm, salty taste. As she chews a shadow falls across her and a very familiar voice says, “Is this seat taken?”

The Doctor swallows, her mouth suddenly dry. She waits just a breath before she opens her eyes, holding onto this moment, this moment so long awaited. Then she looks up, and she can’t stop the smile spreading across her face. Reaching out to take the hands of the woman standing in front of her, she speaks the name she holds tightly in her hearts.

“Rose.”

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with me on this crazy, angst-filled ride. This started out as my way of dealing with Twelve's departure and turned into so much more. Thank you for reading my words, and for giving me kind words in return! 
> 
> "Remember, hate is always foolish, but love is always wise." -The Twelfth Doctor
> 
> 💙


End file.
